Chapter Text
There are only so many times that God could help Tom out. Okay, okay, look, hear Tom out.
Colt Seavers was the Fall Guy™, always has been. He took the fall (literally), and no one was any wiser that Tom was the one to rig the mechanics, alright? He knew this, Gail covered it up nicely, and some techie took the blame, never working in the industry again.
That was almost a year ago. Since then, Tom has played in two shows, done a few cameos, finished filming that movie, had a few brand deals, and at least one interview lined up every month or so, enough to keep relevant until another offer came through.
Right now, Gail didn't have anything other than a movie that was set to start filming towards the end of summer. It was currently early-April, and Tom has almost never had that much time on his hands.
So…naturally, he started to look into Colt Seavers.
The stuntman essentially dropped off the face of the Earth following his accident. Which was fine, and really didn't make any difference to Tom.
But there was just something…a nagging voice in his head that he couldn't get rid of. Obviously, there were safety nets in place in case of the exact thing happening. It couldn't have just been a simple malfunction. Tom didn't fucking think that shit through, alright? Obviously Gail handled the aftermath, and there are loads of actors who have actually killed and still had successful careers.
But there were just so many people around that day, did no one seriously see Tom? What if someone did see him? What if they were reporting him? A scandal like that would cause some uproar, right? A stunt guy failing a stunt is nothing, but an A-list actor causing the stunt to fail, yeah, that would be concerning, and he would have to go underground for a few years as PR handled it.
So, in spite of Gail's warnings, Tom may have decided to stick closer to Colt. Not like…really close, alright, he obviously didn't care that Colt needed someone to wipe his ass, but close enough.
Honestly, Colt was living a pretty boring life, he barely had a digital footprint outside of Jody's socials, sometimes Dan's, and the occasional 'thank you' post to the crew. Colt was regularly going to PT, and was able to be released early from the hospital following someone's discharge. Tom initially thought that it had been Jody, but once Tom dug deeper (and sent a few flirtatious glances at a nurse), Colt had someone taking care of him.
"I don't know…maybe a good friend or someone like that."
Well, shit, that just complicated things. If there was a helper, an at-home nurse, then their network became Colt's network, and that network needed to become Ryder's business.
Following the accident and Colt's discharge, Tom found that they lived together in Colt's home for some time. He noted takeout orders for two, then one, gas stations down to central California, Amazon packages, one car and a bike in the driveway, sleeping bags, before he was finally able to trace it all the way to San Francisco.
A decent distance from L.A., but Gail was going to promise to keep his calendar open for some time ("they get desperate for sightings after a while, my dear") And it was only ever an hour private jet ride away. So, he followed the trail to a decent apartment building, bought out a tenant for apartment 306, and threw in a bonus for the landlord for such late notice.
He set up much slower than what he was used to. Surely, he could read directions about putting together a lamp, right? Or unpacking his clothes but realizing he forgot hangers. And then buying all organic superfoods for his daily meals set by his nutritionist, only to realize that he didn't have a food processor. He hasn't lived on his own in some times, at least, completely on his own. He's always used to the fluttering servants that always knew what he needed when he needed it, he was used to his life being managed.
But this couldn't be risked. Tom had to know, he had to. He couldn't add on the addition of bringing someone else along for this. He had even dressed simpler, trying to blend in with the crowd. Tom even let his roots grow out!
But honestly, it was mostly just a waiting game from the moment Tom moved into the apartment building. He didn't know exactly where this helper lived, for all Tom knew, he didn't actually reside in the apartments, just situated himself frequently enough that it landed on Tom's radar. It could have been a boyfriend's place, or girlfriend's.
At first, Tom was pretty stoked. He's never done the spy shit, except for in the movies he played a spy in. So he tried to remember some of the clever tricks he learned. Like not leaving traces, and walking silently, wearing disguises and keeping extra clothes on you for a quick change.
But, most importantly, spies were masters of waiting. They can't strike too early or too late. Tom was also pretty good at waiting, if he had to say so himself. He could wait for the attendant to get his coffee, and wait for his cue, and wait for the right timing of his lines.
So, yeah, he would say that he was pretty good at waiting.
Turns out waiting fucking sucks.
He waited for two weeks! Two weeks! That's two weeks of his life that he won't get back! Two weeks that he spent just waiting for this fucker to show his face!
Ugh, this spy shit was so much easier in the movies. Tom had no clues about this guy, at all, so he had no leads to go off of. Except the two-bedroom apartment he was funneling money into! And there wasn't shit to do in San Francisco! There were hardly any good bars nearby that would satiate Tom's need for hot girls and cute guys, there weren't any clubs he could get into because he supposed to be undercover!
Fuck this shit!
He might as well just give up, go home to his wonderful home that had servants and a food processor and lamps that he didn't have to put together, break no-contact with Iggy, have some rocking hot sex, and forget about Colt fucking Seavers.
Tom was parked across the street, staring at the apartment entrance for a few hours now. He groaned, Taylor Swift was blasting, and he felt like having some sort of vice right about now.
A DUI is a lot easier to brush off than a murder, alright?
Maybe he just needed to get fucked, or fuck someone. Was he ovulating?…wait, did dudes ovulate?
He wrote it down and put the post-it note in his console, he'll make sure to Google that later. He popped his knuckles, imagining hot beaches and hotter babes around him. He closed his eyes, licking his lips, and mourning his totally hot bleach blond hair!
Ugh, stupid Seavers. He wouldn't be in the fucking mess had he just stayed in his lane, if he just wasn't making names for himself, getting known on setting (sometimes even more than Tom!), then he wouldn't have had his accident.
Tom glanced at the entrance across the street, watching as the sun slowly passed over the hillside, and created a golden hue around him.
Too bad he's here waiting for a guy that he doesn't even know-
That's…that's when Tom saw him. It felt like a bullet shot through his chest, air stolen from his lungs, a deep settled feeling in his body.
Wonderful eyes, soft bed hair, a light scruff on his face.
Yeah, Tom didn't give a shit about anything anymore, certainly not Colt fucking Seavers. Tom - no, that beautiful man - was lucky Tom was in his car, because wow, Tom was this close to pouncing that man's bones. God, is that a dick print he could see?
He watched the man entered the building with a duffle bag.
Tom rushed out of his car, barely remembering to turn off the engine and grab his keys. He followed the angel into the lobby, then up some stairs, trying to remember to stay just far enough behind to create plausible deniability.
When they reached the third floor, Tom's heart was pounding. When the man opened the door into that floor, Tom's heart started to flutter.
And when the man pulled out a set of keys for the apartment next to Tom's, Tom praised God above.
He could not believe it. Was this the same man that was taking care of Seavers? It had to be…this was it, this is who Tom has been searching for! Was it? Could Tom have really been graced by the presence of his angel?
It had to be.
He really was God's favorite, after all.
Okay, maybe 'God's favorite' was stretching it a little, but Tom wasn't afraid of some hard work. But this guy - Ryland Grace - has like zero social media. There's a decently-active Facebook account (who the fuck uses Facebook anymore?), and some sightings on Grover Cleveland Middle School's page, but that's it.
So, Tom had to resort to digging into Seavers instead. There was quite a bit that Tom could find from Jody's social media alone, but unfortunately, Colt fell into the same issue that Ryland had, barely anything but bread crumbs. Tom still found enough to make notes of.
Ryland Grace was the twin brother of Colt motherfucking Seavers. What terrible luck, for an angel to be related to someone that…unfortunate looking. Colton and Ryland Gentry were born on June 28th, 1987. They were born to Thomas and Diane Gentry. They had an older brother, Courtland Gentry, born December 21st, 1980. Courtland went to prison in 1995 after killing their father in cold blood. Ryland and Colt had been witnesses to it. They both fell into the foster care system for a few years following their mother's neglect, before being adopted in 2003 by Alan and Mary Grace, not long before Courtland died in prison. A riot gone wrong.
Ryland moved to San Francisco, and Colt went to L.A., adopting the stage name Colt Seavers while Ryland took their adoptive parents' name.
Aside from that there was nothing. There are some online obituaries for Alan and Mary Grace after they passed about ten years ago, but after that…there's truly nothing. There's barely mentions in the local newspaper following their father's murder, and their older brother's arrest. The most Tom could find was the court transcript.
Despite the fact that Tom knew in the movies, this would be the part people would be screaming at him to not look any deeper, to mind his business…he was firmly ignoring that intuition.
The guy next door was just too cute!
And…if Tom was going to figure out what Seavers knows, he has to do it properly.
Ryland's first alarm went off at 6:00 AM, he had five alarms in the morning, and his last one was set for 6:20 AM. He ate toast for breakfast (considering that Ryland went through at least a full loaf of bread every week, sometimes more if he planned on staying later at the school and needed a snack), and drank coffee as if his life depended on it. His usual was two tablespoons of sugar and a dash of cream, but if he were treating himself to a morning coffee on his bike to school, he would order an iced mocha latte with raspberry, three splenda, with oat milk. He rode his bike every day (rain or shine), and while Tom could appreciate his exercise routine, Ryland doesn't appear to own a car.
Poor thing.
Ryland Grace is a middle school science teacher, he also had a habit of staying long after classes were out.
Which meant Tom barely saw him…
Barely.
Okay, he might be making sure that Ryland got to school on time, at least a few minutes before announcements started. He might also be ensuring that Ryland went grocery shopping at least once a week (usually Saturdays, but he'll go on a weekday if he's desperate for something). That's it! Really!
Alright, and maybe Tom was also sending flowers to Ryland's school, nothing incriminating! Of course! But just something that showed that Ryland had someone thinking about him. He never signed them, but he wondered if Ryland was a fan of his movies…
Okay, and the chocolate, not the cheap kind at a gas station or convenience store, but the kind that required years of craftsmanship and a decent chunk of money.
Now, on Thursdays, he met with Marissa Dobbler, an old college friend of his. They went to a bar, ordered a steaks, and a beer, some cheap on tap stuff. Tom had tried it himself once, and it was just awful! How could Ryland drink that crap? The steak isn't half bad, not like the wagyu Tom was used to, and it's far from prime rib, after all.
Saturday mornings, Ryland woke up late and got breakfast from the diner on the corner. It's a little shop, waitresses that had too much makeup, but knew Ryland by name, and knew his order. Ryland never changed it - a simple American breakfast, scrambled eggs, bacon, a hotcake, and he always drank almost an entire pot of coffee as he wrote up lesson plans for the week ahead.
Again, it's cheap, not nearly the high quality quail eggs Tom ate for breakfast, nor the premium meat he used for bacon. And the coffee? Oh, God, not imported, costs 2.99 for unlimited refills, and tasted like hot bean water. Nothing like what Tom drank.
Those are just the regular dates, Ryland's schedule seemed to be mostly based around his hours as a teacher. He stayed at the school until at least 3:30, sometimes later. He always brought some sort of students' papers to grade with him home. There were also field trips, games, homecoming, and the like.
So, he's dedicated to his underpaid and unappreciated job, that overworked him like a dog.
Maybe he's just so busy that he puts them off, yeah…yeah that makes sense. Tom is obviously just not trying hard enough. He has to be better, has to gift him something that's going to make him cream his pants!
…alright, maybe hold that off until their first date
Regardless, it's not like Tom was really leaving him clues as to who he was. He just sent the gifts, sometimes with a note attached. It was just something sweet he was sending to the teacher's school. It could be written off as an appreciative student or parent, it wouldn't ever be traced back to Tom.
Ryland, unfortunately, didn't appear to have many friends. Sure, he had Marissa, but that was about it. There was Colt, who was still in L.A., though. The twins kept in touch, from what Tom could pick up through the thin walls of the apartment. Ryland usually called Colt in the morning and once at night, checking in on Colt. Tom had to stifle the bitter jealousy from Ryland acknowledging that nobody's existence, but doesn't even glance twice at Tom from across the street. Especially because there were times that Colt didn't pick up, Tom knew from the cute but disheartened expression on Ryland's face as he leaned against the cool window and left Colt a voicemail.
Colt never called him first.
That son of a bitch, making Ryland wait like that. Sometimes, Ryland was just so excited that he just talked and talked over the voicemail, but sometimes…sometimes Tom could see that Ryland really needed Colt in that moment.
God, Colt, couldn't do one thing right, huh? First, he had to get the decent-semi-cute camerawoman. Then, he had to take up the limelight every time the cast and crew went out. And finally, fucking up the last relationship he has, for what? Because he was a little bitch that couldn't take a fucking hint, stuck his nose where it didn't belong, and now he's all sad and shit?
Fuck off, that stupid son of a bitch couldn't even be there for Ryland when he needed it.
But Tom knew, he could see it on Ryland's face. Ryland didn't need Colt, he just needed someone to lean on, someone to take care of him.
And Tom…Tom could be that someone.